


NecROMANCy

by CaptainLobotomy



Category: Pushing Daisies, Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Sam, Bisexual Dean, Brotherly Relationship, Caring Dean, Hunting, Multi, Necromancy, Pies, Post-Emerson Cod, Post-Olive Snook, Sad, Saving People Hunting Things, The Pie Hole, Worried Dean, and happy, family business, i wake pies and bake the dead, its got its ups and downs, mourning Sam, post-Jessica Moore death, pre-Charlotte Charles, probs some humor, season one, we just don't know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:51:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLobotomy/pseuds/CaptainLobotomy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean go to Massachusetts to investigate a series of strange deaths that they believe could be the work of a reaper when they come across The Pie Hole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Noise and Confusion

Dean forced his glance back toward the laptop screen. There seemed to be a case worth looking into in Massachusetts but he couldn't help but turn his attention toward his younger brother who seemed to be soundly sleeping, more or less, for the first time Dean had witnessed in a long time. Every time Sam mumbled in his sleep, rolled over or stirred slightly Dean's eyes snapped back toward him. He couldn't recall how long it had been since his brother's girlfriend died, not long enough for him to properly mourn. Though Sam seemed driven to just try and distract himself with whatever he could and Dean was more or less okay with that seeing as it meant that they were doing a lot more hunting as opposed to none, which is what they were doing after he'd left for Stanford.

"M'Dean?" Sam mumbled, propping his face lazily atop his arms and squinting at his older brother. Dean closed the laptop in response and looked at Sam attentively. "How long've I been out?" 

"Not long," Dean replied, quickly checking the time. The truth was, he had no idea how long it had been but that didn't matter to him he knew that whatever the answer was, Sam needed more sleep. Dean cleared his throat, prepared to lie after seeing that three hours had passed, "only twenty minutes."

Sam began to sit up, "that doesn't sound right."

Dean stuck his arm out toward the younger brother as kind of a warning, "hey, go back to sleep. You need it, especially if you want to be hunting non-stop. I got us a job to look into but I need you sharp. Got it?" Sam nodded wearily, letting himself fall back onto the bed. Dean reopened the laptop, rereading information before closing it a second time and retreating to the bed next to his younger brother's. 

"Hey, Dean."

Dean woke up flinching and reaching for his gun under the pillow, he would really have to get used to travelling with his brother again. "Geez, Sam. You scared the crap out of me, what time is it?"

"Six, what's the case?"

"Wait, in the morning?" That would take some getting used to.

Sam sighed, "yes, Dean. In the morning. Tell me about this case." 

Dean groaned and rolled off of the bed, hitting the floor with a  _thud_ and then slowly picking himself back up. "I was reading the obituaries and I have a feeling we're dealing with a reaper?" 

"Another reaper? We just hunted one, Dean. This isn't exactly a common occurrence."

"Look there's a pattern, alright? It fits. People dying of something they were otherwise unaffected by, not to mention the people who seem to be dropping dead for no identifiable reason whatsoever."

Sam threw his arms up in surrender, "you're right, whatever this thing is it sounds like a case." 

"You're damn straight," Dean nodded in Sam's direction and gathered himself a little, brushing his hair back and pulling on a pair of jeans before the brothers vacated the motel. 

"Shotgun," Sam laughed jokingly opening the passenger door of the impala and throwing a couple bags into the back seat while his older brother started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Dean cracked a smile at Sam, he was doing better than he had been. He was probably relieved that his older brother wasn't going to die, even if it was at the cost of some jogger. Maybe it was fate, the whole reaper incident, Sam Winchester did not need or deserve another death in his life so soon. Dean bit the side of his cheek, wondering whether or not to ask Sam how he was doing. What if he was doing well? Asking him if he was alright could spark something, cause him to think of Jess and go into a relapse of reckless hunting and acute insomnia. If he was cracking lame jokes and laughing at them , there was probably nothing to worry about. Even if the dude did see his girlfriend impaled and served up extra crispy on their ceiling. Then again, with their particular line of business, you come a little more prepared for disaster. Not to dismiss Sam's obvious suffering but they had lost before, from a young age and never really stopped since then.

Dean's train of thought quickly crashed when he heard a sliver of what was playing on the radio and proceeded to turn it up until Sam felt like his ears were going to bleed and his eyes were going to pop out. "...and she's buying the _stairway_... to... _heaven_!"

Discontent spread quickly across Sam's face, "dude!" He yelled at his older brother to no avail, this was going to be a long drive.  


	2. Not in Kansas Anymore

_Ding, ding._

The bell, that was the bell that meant the front door was opening. Usually Ned never paid much attention to the bell but at this particular moment he just so happened to be waiting for his business partner, Emerson Cod. The private investigator that used Ned's unique ability to his advantage. Ned peaked over the counter, happy to see that Emerson had indeed wandered into his establishment. Emerson grimaced at the short, bubbly, blonde he saw walking toward him eagerly. She smiled down at him in his booth, notebook and pen in hand, "welcome to the Pie Hole, as in 'shut your,'" she specified.

"Morning, Olive." Emerson sighed, "I'll have rhubarb... and a cappuccino."

"But could I recommen-"

"Olive?" Emerson asked, dawning his impatient smile. 

"Rhubarb."

"Okay, but-"

"Olive!" Emerson drooped his eyelids, giving the waitress a stern look.

Ned crept up behind Olive, "I think what she's trying to say is the cappuccino machine doesn't work. Coffee okay?" He asked Emerson, hunched over shyly as per usual. Emerson nodded , settling for regular coffee, "two coffees, please, Olive." She sighed and left the two alone to discuss business. Ned sat down across from Emerson without removing his hands from his pockets, apron still on and powdered up with flour from the kitchen.

"So what's the deal?"

Ned tilted his head, "deal? You're supposed to tell me. People ask for _your_ help and give _you_  price. I just make pies and help out. I'm no P.I."

"I meant with the cappuccino machine."

Ned shrugged, "it broke. I can't fix it but it looks fancy." Emerson nodded as Olive returned with the pie and coffee. She lingered, glancing back and forth between Ned and Emerson. 

"What're you guys talking about?" she whispered. 

"None of your business," Emerson whispered back.

Olive pouted, "you guys never let me in on the fun."

"Olive," Ned said bluntly, waiting for the blonde's attention to turn to him. Olive gazed into his eyes, waiting for something impossible to pass through his lips like a beautiful melody. "Customers," Ned continued, gesturing to the other tables in the Pie Hole. Olive trudged off, disappointed as usual. Ned watched Emerson gaze lovingly at his pie, "Emerson...?" The bulkier, better dressed man looked up from his pie and toward Ned. "The case?"

"Right, so this one's pretty weird. I'm not sure if there's anything here but I figured it's worth looking into. About six different families have come in saying that their kin, young people about seventeen to twenty-five are dropping dead of things like lung cancer and heart attacks. Now normally I would tell them, 'boo hoo' but I took a look at these medical records and these kids got nothing on them and I mean _nothing._ Something weird's going on here and whatever it is, I'm hoping to profit off it." 

"Okay..." Ned started, trying to think of possible causes for the deaths, however he quickly stopped. First of all because he wasn't the private investigator and second of all because of his unusual gift.

"So I'm thinkin', I finish my pie, you do what you gotta' do and we head for the morgue." Emerson suggested without looking up from his plate. 

"That sounds good," Ned mumbled, most of his face resting in his hand, "I have quite a bit to do though so... um... take your time with the pie."

Emerson smiled, "oh, I will."


	3. The Facts Were These

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo I've been pretty lazy with proof reading and I'm sorry for that but if you notice any errors, feel free to point them out in the comments and I'll try and fix them :D

"C'mon Sam, I'm starving."

"Sure, Dean but I'm just saying, can't it wait until we at least check into a motel first?"

"Sam, it's called The Pie Hole." Sam responded with an exasperated sigh, Dean was driving and there's no way he could convince his gluttonous brother not to stop for pie, no matter how carsick or, claustrophobic or, annoyed Sam got. Dean parked beside The Pie hole and got out of the impala, bringing with him his keys and his shit eating grin. 

_Ding, ding._

Ned looked toward the door, curious whether the noise was an indication of a customer leaving or entering when he saw two men walk into his establishment. Ned glanced toward Olive, busy with other people on the other side of The Pie Hole. That was good because Ned was intrigued by these men, he didn't want to label anyone but they were certainly from out of town. Most people in the city were dressed almost formally, Ned was one of the few who disobeyed the status quo. Not that he wasn't constantly uncomfortable with being an outsider. Or maybe, he was already an outsider because he was uncomfortable. While Ned's train of thought got lost somewhere very similar to the arctic Olive headed toward The Winchester's table.

"Well, hello there..." Olive smiled, loosely gripping her pen, "what can I get for you?"

Dean smiled back tilting his head, checking her out and making certain assessments in his head, Sam cleared his throat and smiled at Olive, who bit her lip in response. "I'll have a coffee please," Sam said politely.

Olive jotted it down on the paper and turned her attention back to the older Winchester, "I'll have the same and a slice of cherry," he winked. He had definitely made up his mind.

Olive smiled, her heart was beating like a drum. It wasn't often that her advances were returned, "coming right up, sugar."

Olive walked away and Dean watched her hips sway as she moved, smiling cockily. When he looked back toward Sam he was greeted with a scowl. "What's got your panties in a bunch?" Dean asked defensively.

"Cherry. Really?" Sam sighed, rubbing his eyes a little. Maybe he needed to get some sleep, he was pretty annoyed by what he was pretty sure was Dean's usual demeanor.

Dean shrugged, wondering in his head if that's what he would have picked anyway, "yeah, why? You have a thing for her?"

Sam scoffed and relaxed into the booth, crossing his arms. The thought of that coffee cheered him up a little.   

As they waited, Sam and Dean distracted themselves working on theories for the case. Sam was still skeptical that what they were hunting was a reaper. The two looked up when a man, standing beside their table cleared his throat. "Cherry right?" Ned asked, holding two coffees and a plate of cherry pie carefully.

"Yeah, that's us. Thanks," Sam said sliding one of the coffees toward him after Ned placed the things on the table. "Can I get you anything else?" Ned asked as Dean bit into his pie. 

"Yeah, my compliments to the chef," Dean answered. 

"Well thank you, then," Ned blushed a little as Dean turned to face him, noticing the nice, bright blue of his eyes, his long thin legs and the way he held himself. Ned tuned away to begin walking back to the kitchen, "if you need anything just... umm..." Ned found his awkwardness beginning to flounder around him in some kind of suffocating mist. He gave the brother's a thumbs up, not noticing his apron came slightly untied and tripping over it.

After Ned was safely back to the kitchen Dean spoke up, "I think I changed my mind about the blonde."

Sam began to chuckle, "what, fall for the pie maker?"

"What? No, shut up!" Dean hunched his shoulders defensively, "just not my type."

"Dean, everyone's your type."

Dean noticed Olive trekking along past the table, "excuse me."

"Yes?" Olive stopped in her tracks, turning immediately toward the attractive men. 

"Could we get the bill?" Dean smiled.

"Coming right up," Olive winked.

When she returned with the bill the Winchesters quickly noticed her number written on it, Sam collected the paper for... safe keeping and they were on their way. 


	4. The Morgue

"Agents Mulder and Scully, F.B.I." Dean stated as he and his brother retrieved their fake badges from the pockets of their suit jackets.

They were greeted by a pretty unwelcoming coroner, "mhmm," the medical examiner started, "what's the F.B.I. doing looking into heart attacks?"

"Duty calls, you know?" Dean started.

"We just go where the boss sends us, apparently we haven't rules out certain possibilities." Sam added.

"Mhmm," the examiner said again, before letting the boys in.

Once inside Sam and Dean stopped in their tracks, tilting their heads and looking in disbelief at Ned and Emerson. "Aren't you the pie guy?" Dean asked shuffling closer to the body.

Ned's eyes widened, this was it, he was caught. The government was going to kidnap him, run tests on him, the men in suits had come to take him away and cut him into little pieces and put his organs in jars. Ned felt his heart fluttering anxiously, "noooo...?" He responded, "who... Who are you?"

Sam and Dean went once again to retrieve their badges, "special agents," Sam said showing the badges to the pie maker and the private investigator. Ned swallowed his tongue, Emerson gave him a look of disapproval as he hunched over making nervous choking noises.

This wasn't Emerson Cod's first rodeo with the feds'. "Private investigator, Emerson Cod," he started reaching his hand out to introduce himself. Sam took it and shook it firmly, Dean kept his eyes on Ned. "Excuse my colleague, he's one of the medical examiners, he has that social anxiety thing." Ned had almost caught his breath when the body laying on the metal table sneezed. Sam and Dean looked at each other and then toward Ned and Emerson. Emerson scratched his nose. "'Scuse me," he said nervously, peering at Ned's watch timer.

Sam and Dean moved toward the autopsy table and lifted the sheet exposing the face of a supposed-to-be-dead nineteen year old boy. "Umm... Hi," the boy said, looking between Sam and Dean as Emerson looked at the timer once again, grabbing Ned's hand and dropping it on the boy's face. Sam and Dean's faces moulded into a shocked expression.

Sam used two fingers to check the boy's pulse. "Dean he's dead." Ned's eyes were plastered onto Sam and Dean growing wider by the second until rolling back into his head while he collapsed onto the floor of the morgue.

Emerson peered toward his business partner laying unconscious on the floor and then back to the presumed agents clearing his throat, "I can explain."

"Please do," Dean insisted.

Emerson searched his brain for a moment before opening his mouth again, "first thing's first, how about you show me those badges again."

Sam and Dean rolled their eyes, once again taking out their fake badges, "this is getting a little exhausting, pal." Dean said impatiently, taking Sam's badge and handing both of them to the P.I.

Emerson opened one and scanned over it with his big, brown eyes, "mhmm," he looked back up and the brothers, unimpressed, "nice try, these are fake." Emerson tossed the badges back to Sam and Dean, "so who are you guys?"

"Well I'll tell you one thing," Dean started, opening up his jacket to expose a pistol, "we have guns, so how about you answer our questions first?" Emerson put his hands up in surrender, kicking Ned's limp body lightly as he did so, shaking him awake while the brother's drew their guns.

As soon as Ned came to he felt as though he were going to faint all over again. "What happened?" He whispered harshly to Emerson.

"Not the time," Emerson mumbled back as Ned sprung up and joined him in putting his hands in the air.

"Alright, what's going on here? What made the kid talk?" Sam asked sternly.

Ned glanced at Emerson nervously, unsure of what to say, if anything. Emerson smiled back at Ned and mumbled, "tell them, Ned." Ned's breathing grew more unsteady by the second until his deep, gasping because audible and he trembled slightly.

"We don't have all day," Dean snapped.

"Alright, alright," Ned shouted in response giving himself the time to take a few deep breaths and collect his composure for the few seconds he had to speak before he was killed and taken to some top secret laboratory. "I can... Bring dead things back to life." It felt good to say that out loud, Ned sighed and then braced himself for what he believed to be the inevitable. Instead he opened his eyes to see two very confused men with guns staring blankly at him.

After why seemed like a few millennia Dean spoke up, "alright, you two are coming with us."

Emerson dropped his arms and crossed them over his chest, "who says?" He protested.

"The guys with guns," Sam answered. The brother's proceeded to 'escort' the pie maker and the P.I. out of the building and into the impala.


	5. Ballroom Blitz

Ned and Emerson sat on the same noisy bed in the same dingy motel room. Sam sat in the corner of the room on a hard looking red embroidered chair, pointing a gun at them staring coldly and not speaking. Dean paced back and forth in front of them. "So run this by me again, you bring dead things back to life...?"

Ned cleared his throat, "correct," his voice cracked.

"Well then what killed the kid on the table?"

"Well..." Ned started, avoiding eye contact and twiddling his shaking thumbs, "there are rules."

"Enlighten me," Dean remarked casually, still pacing.

 _Who are these guys?_ Emerson thought, they did seem very calm about kidnapping two people and holding them hostage.

  
"I touch something once, it comes back to life. The second time I touch something, it dies. I have to touch an undeaded... Thing... Within one minute or something else dies in it's place."

  
"What were you doing in the morgue?"

  
"We're investigating the death's, their families offered a reward, it's what we do, we're business partners."

  
Dean squeezed his eyes, trying to understand the logistics of the absurd situation, "so let me get this straight; the family pays you to look I to the death of their loved one and you just bring them back to life and ask how they got ganked?"

  
Ned and Emerson nodded in unison, "excuse me a sec, Sam?" Dean called, moving into the other corner of the motel room. "So what do you think?"

"I think they're telling the truth."

  
"Based on what!?" Dean said before looking at them over their shoulders.

  
"Look at him, Dean! That guy look like a supernatural, evil genius to you?"

  
Dean peered toward Ned who was loosening his collar nervously and trying to hold Emerson's hand. Emerson snapped his hand away, giving Ned a dirty look and putting on a pair of slightly comical looking glasses before beginning to knit. Sam and Dean looked at each other confused but shrugged it off. "Okay," Dean surrendered, "let's ask them what they know about the case, they could be helpful."

  
The Winchester's walked back toward Ned and Emerson. "Alright, what have you gathered on the dead kids?" Sam asked.

Emerson shook his head casually, without looking up from his knitting project, "we've answered enough of your questions."

Ned quickly gasped, giving Emerson a pleading look.

"Excuse me?" Dean said, trying to hold back a cocky chuckle.

"You heard me, bitch." Emerson stated, still knitting.

Dean took a few steps toward Emerson Cod, "now you listen her-" The private detective kicked Dean's gun out of his hand, Sam pointed his away from Ned and toward Emerson who tossed his knitting needle at Sam, jamming his gun barrel. Sam and Dean moved in on him, causing Emerson to quickly draw his revolvers and point one at each brother. Dean sighed deeply and glared at Sam, _not dangerous, my ass_.

"What're you trying to do here, steal my case? Or are you here for him?" Emerson asked, gesturing toward his pie making friend. "Who do you wok for? 'Cause your sure aren't feds'."

"We're hunters," Dean admitted."

"You don't look like no hunter to me," Emerson retorted skeptically, "what's a hunter doing poking around the morgue and posing as an F.B.I. agent? Ain't no animals in there, so either you're a liar or y'all are some crappy hunters."

"We hunt monsters," Dean corrected himself.

"Come again?"

"Whatever is killing these kids," Sam started patiently, "we think it's a reaper, or some other kind of paranormal creature."

"So old grim is just hopping on kiddy-rides and handing out heart attacks?"

 

"Look, we can explain just put the gun down an-"Dean said, trying to disarm the P.I.

"Not happening, buttercup."

"Okay..." Dean thought without breaking eye contact with the man pointing a gun at him, Ned found it very unnerving. "Let me guess, the kids you brought back claimed they saw someone, maybe looked like a spirit or a man in a suit?"

Emerson lowered the gun he had on Dean slightly, "how did you know that?" He asked, squinting at the green eyed hunter.

"We've seen this kind of thing before, and we can stop it. Maybe if we work together we can stop it without anyone else having to die."  
Emerson nodded slowly, lowering both his guns and putting them back into his holsters.

"Okay, but I'm watching you two."

"Fair enough," Sam said.

Dean shrugged, "maybe if we help you out on this we can get a cut of th-"

"Not a chance," Emerson said. 


	6. Earth to Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long, guys. College and junk... amIright'?

Eventually, the motley crew ended up back at the Pie Hole. The group sat in silence, trying to think of the next step to take in their investigation. Sam rested his chin on his hand, his fatigue palpable as he sipped some fresh coffee. Dean and Emerson both indulged in strawberry pie as Ned sat quietly, shifting his gaze back and forth between every individual sitting in the booth.

Olive walked out of the Pie Hole kitchen with her usual bright and cheery demeanor. "You need that coffee topped up, sugar?" she asked Sam.

"Umm... yes, please." Sam answered, smiling and bringing the cup toward Olive who hastily filled it back up.

"Anything else for you boys?" Olive asked before Emerson gave her a dirty look and she retreated back to the kitchen.

Dean looked toward Ned, "so... You and her. You have a thing?"

Emerson looked at Dean maliciously as Ned responded speaking quickly, "I'm not sure what you're insinuating. Do you mean _thing_ as in romantic or sexual involvement or  _thing_  as in, she works for me?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "I'll take that as a no."

Sam cleared his throat, feeling that casual conversation was best left for people who hadn't just been pointing guns at and trying to kidnap each other. "So what have you guy's gathered on the causes of death in these kids?"

Emerson finished his pie and slid the plate away, "we know that there are a bunch of dead kids. We know that their medical records show them in perfect health and we know they keep dying of cancer and heart attacks."

"And no heart problems or cancer showed up in their medical records?"

"Nada'."

"What about family history?" Dean asked while chewing his food.

"Family history's clean," Emerson assured them.

Sam and Dean nodded in unison trying to fit the pieces together.

"Motive," Sam said. Dean gave him a confused look. "If you think someone's binding a reaper, what motive would they have for killing these kids?" 

The group sat in silence for a moment, thinking until Ned finally spoke up. "These kids are dying of things we see most often in old people. So, if there's any validity to what you're saying then I think the next logical step is to check out the local retirement homes..."

Dean's eyes bolted back toward Ned as he stared admirably at him. Sam, Emerson and the pie maker all began exiting the booth as Dean continued to stare. "Wake up sleeping beauty," Sam said, snapping his fingers in front of Dean's face to capture his attention, "earth to Dean." Dean quickly evacuated the booth, following the other's out of the Pie Hole.

Before leaving Ned shouted, "be back soon, Olive," and they were on their way.  


	7. The Investigation

Sam and Dean arrived at the retirement home shortly before Emerson and Ned. The pie maker and the P.I. stepped out of the car and maneuvered toward the brothers. "Nice car," Dean remarked, looking at Emerson's Lincoln Continental, "suicide doors, how'd you manage that?"

"Investigating dead folks is a lot easier when you can ask the victim." He replied.

The group headed into the building and were greeted by a young, red headed nurse. "Can I help you?" They headed toward where the nurse resided behind a desk, "are you folks visiting someone?" she asked, cheerfully.

Sam and Dean retrieved their fake badges and showed them to the nurse, "I'm special agent, Mulder. This is my partner, special agent Scully. This is private investigator Emerson Cod and... Ned." Dean explained.

"I make pies." Ned said, without thinking.

The nurse eyed the group suspiciously for a moment, "may I ask what this is regarding?"

"You may have heard of the recent deaths happening in this area," Sam started.

"Yes, but I thought that was all young people. Don't get me wrong it's awful but I don't understand what brings you here."

"New leads," Dean answered as another young nurse with black hair and pink lipstick wandered out of the office behind the desk.

"There a problem?" the other nurse asked.

Sam and Dean recovered their badges once again, showing them to the second nurse. "They're here investigating the deaths of all those kids," the red head explained. 

"I'm not sure what you're hoping to find here but investigate away, agents." The second nurse insisted.

"We will," Emerson stated before they made their way into the retirement home.

Once past the lobby they faced each other, plotting how to go about the investigation. "We should split up, cover more ground." Sam said. 

"Good plan, pie boy, you're with me." Dean declared. Ned looked at Emerson, the two shrugged and complied. 

Sam and Emerson began walking down the west wing of the retirement home while Dean and Ned entered the east. 

"You get any bad vibes from either of those nurses?" Emerson asked Sam, casually.

"What do you mean?" Sam started, "you think one of them could have something to do with this?" 

"Maybe, maybe not. All I'm sayin' is I got the feeling one of them's hiding something, whether it's some kinda' sexual secret, a credit card scam or something to do with these dead kids. Something just ain't right." 

Sam looked toward the sparkling, white, tile floor, thinking about the nurses. He tried to understand the kind of vibe Emerson got from the nurses but couldn't quite manufacture whatever he was trying to. "Which one?" Sam asked, Emerson shrugged as the two continued down the corridor. 

"Looks like this is our first stop," Emerson said, slowing down in front of the door to the first senior-occupied room on their side of the retirement home. Sam knocked on the door. 

"Who goes there," came an disgruntled croak from the other side of the door. 

"Agent," Sam cleared his throat, "Scully, with the FBI," Sam shouted, dissatisfied with his alias. Dean always got to be Mulder.

The voice was silent for a few seconds before another croak came from behind the door, "come in."

Emerson opened the door and the two stepped inside the poorly lit room. The room's occupant was a bald, old man with breathing tubes and thick, coke-bottle glasses who was staring outside the window through a small crack in his dingy lavender curtains. "Excuse me, Mr..." Emerson started. Sam peeked outside the door to see the name on the wall next to it.

"Poe." Sam whispered to Emerson.

"Mr.Poe. I'm private investigator Emerson Cod, we're here today regarding the recent death in the area."

"Recent death?" The elderly man started in a seemingly strenuous tone. "Son, you're in a retirement home. You're going to have to be a little more specific," the man relaxed in his chair, chuckling a little. 

"You may have heard about some kids, about seventeen to twenty-five, dying of strange causes recently. We were wondering if you had any information abou-" Sam stated, thinking of how he was currently posing as an FBI agent while being in the same age group as the dying kids. 

"Ain't no kids around these parts," the man interrupted, "only old folks like me. I don't know anything." 

"Alright," Sam handed the man his card, "if you think of anything, give me a call." 

Sam and Emerson left the room and proceeded toward the next. 


	8. Seasons Don't Fear The Reaper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom. Finally, sorry folks.

Sam reached out to knock on the next door as he was struck with a sharp pain in his back, he tensed up for a moment letting out a deep breath and the knocking on the next door, lightly. 

"Come in," a voice sang from the other end. 

Emerson opened the door, "hello, Mrs.Browning," he smiled at the old woman, sitting in her chair and meticulously placing her bookmark in her book with she shaking, wrinkled hands and setting it on top of a doily on her nightstand.

"How can I help you, dear?" The woman responded cheerfully.

Sam cleared his throat, loosening his tie, slightly, carefully trying to remain professional-looking. "We're investigating the recent deaths of young people in this area," Sam explained looking around the room for an alter or any indication of witchcraft.

The old woman frowned, "those poor young folks," she commented.

Emerson glanced nervously at Sam, who seemed to be sweating all of the sudden, "do you have any information relating to the deaths that could possibly help us, Mrs.Browning?"

"Afraid not, dear," the woman replied.

Emerson and Sam jotted down a few notes before nodding at the old woman appreciatively and leaving her room.

Outside of the old woman's room Sam started to continue down the hallway. Emerson reached his arm out, stopping the young Winchester from going any further. "What's up with you? You don't look right." The P.I. observed.

"I'm fine," Sam assured him, "just... overly caffeinated, I think."

Emerson looked him up and down skeptically before releasing Sam and walking behind him down the hallway.

_**Meanwhile in the East** **Wing** _

Ned knocked gently on the next door in their line-up. Dean and the pie maker waited patiently for a voice to respond from the other end. 

"Sleeping, maybe?" Ned suggested. 

Dean pushed his ear against the door, hearing frantic gasps coming from the other side. He opened the door and peered into the dark room, seeing an elderly man laying on the floor and shaking slightly. Dean ran to the man's side, "I'm a federal agent, are you alright? Can you tell me what's wrong?" 

"There's a man in here, I don't know how he got in but he's staring at me." The old man gasped. Dean and Ned exchanged a panicked glance as the man's eyes started to roll back. Ned reached down to catch to man's head before it could impact the floor. Dean saw a yellow glow come off of the old man as Ned's hands cradled his head. 

The man looked around the room before getting up and brushing himself off. "Federal agent, huh? What're you doing in this dump?" 

Ned pulled nervously at his collar, trying to think. If he had just brought that man back to life did that mean that someone else was going to die? Or was this man not supposed to die in the first place? Did the reaper save his life in exchange for another or did Ned? Was the reaper coming to take his life? Ned's brain became overwhelmed with possibilities as he tugged at Dean's jacket. "We should go," he whispered. Dean responded with a look of confusion to which Ned replied, "now," and ran out of the man's room and down the hallway. Dean followed, running after the pie maker. 

 _ **Wes** **t** **Wing**_  

Not too long after continuing down the hallway, Sam collapsed and curled up on the floor, clutching his chest. Emerson's eyes widened as he stared at the young deviant he had just met. 

"Please tell me you're not having a heart attack," Emerson begged. 

Tears formed in Sam's eyes as he replied, "I think I'm having a heart attack." 

"No, no you're not. Just breathe." 

Sam took a deep breath and looked up at Emerson, "I still think I'm having a-" the color in Sam's eyes dimmed until they were a pale grey, tears steamed down his cheeks and his gaze was fixated just behind Emerson. Sam lifted his head slightly, expression stuck in a pained gasp. Just as Sam's eyes started to roll back, the color returned. Sam went completely limp, as if being released by some invisible entity.

Emerson couldn't help but take his attention away from the younger Winchester laying on the cold, patterned, tile floor and look toward the sound of rapid footsteps echoing from behind him. Emerson saw Ned and Dean running in his direction. He tilted his head a little, seeing Ned running in front of Dean until Dean noticed his little brother on the floor and quickly passed Ned, running toward Sam.

Dean quickly knelt to his brother's side, his knees making an audible _thud_ sound on the tile that carried on in an echo through the quiet hallway. Dean lifted his younger brother's head, cradling it close to his chest. He could see that Sam was slightly responsive, he exhaled with relief though his heart was still pounding tirelessly. He could hear his father's words in his ear like a whisper _take care of Sammy_ so vivid that for a second he could swear that he felt John's hot breath on the side of his neck. Dean grabbed his brother's face, "Sammy?" he called to his somehow absent brother as his shoulders shuttered. "Sam? Sam, can you hear me?" 

Ned was bent at the waist, catching his breath. "What the hell you runnin' from?" Emerson asked, trying to make sense of the situation.

Ned spoke between gasps of air, "old man, touched him..." Ned finished his statement with a shrug, "what happened here?" he asked, looking, slightly worried, at the young hunter.

"I guessing, whatever's been killin' these kids almost got to him but then... I dunno' I think it stopped."

Sam groaned in response to Dean's advances to assess his condition. He tucked his hand up toward his sore chest and answered, seemingly exasperated, "M'fine Dean."

"Did it come for you? The reaper?" Dean asked, remembering how quickly it could take life and trying to repress his panic.

"Umm..." Sam used his other hand to brush his hair back, "yeah." He answered while simultaneously breathing out deeply. Dean helped Sam to his feet and supported his exhausted younger brother.

"Well, fella's, what do you say we call it a day. Regroup here tomorrow?" Emerson and Ned concurred, glancing at the fragile looking Winchester, all but held up by his older brother.

Sam protested, "Dean, are you sure about that? We've barely made a dent in-" he said groggily before being cut off. 

"I'm sure, Sam. I mean, look at you, man. We're going back to the motel. You need to get some rest." Sam debated whether or not to continue his defiance but knew Dean was right, he felt like death. Or more accurately, he felt like he was close to death at the hands of a soul sucking reaper. He eventually nodded in agreement and waited as Ned, Emerson and Dean made arrangements to meet up the next day. Dean helped Sam out to the Impala and the two made their way back to the motel.  

    


	9. Dream On

The sun still shined, sending shimmering gleams off of the black exterior of the Impala while Sam curled up in he back seat, arm draped over his face. Dean gave him concerned glances every so often but continued to drive steadily to the motel.

After arriving Dean jumped out of the car and pulled open the back door that Sam's head had been resting on. His younger brother, luckily caught himself mid-fall and glared at his older brother as he sincerely apologized. "Okay, c'mon sleeping beauty, into the room."

Sam followed his brother to the motel room, dragging his feet like terrible weights as he trailed behind him. His suit was crumpled and wrinkled in every possible way and his tie hung loosely around his neck, swinging as he took each tired step. "Finally crashing from that caffeine buzz or...?"

"The reaper?" Sam asked. Dean nodded, lips buckled in a tight position, awaiting his answer. "Hard to say, Dean," Sam's voice sounded slightly overworked as he spoke, like each word took a little more effort to squeeze out, "I mean, I know I'm sore from the whole... reaper thing but I mean..." He shrugged, "in all likelihood it's a combination." Sam wobbled a bit as they stood at the door Dean was in the middle of unlocking.

He opened the door and saw Sam's body waver, catching him slightly to offer a support, "you okay?" Sam squeezed his eyes shut and nodded wearily as Dean led him to the bed and plopped him down in it. Sam let out a groan before shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath. Dean opened his mouth to ask him if he was going to sleep in his suit but decided not to. The last thing he needed was Sam more tired after changing. He shrugged it off and let his younger brother get some much needed rest.

After he was sure that Sam was sleeping soundly Dean snuck off to the bar for a couple hours, upon his return, he saw his younger brother stirring in his bed, eyes slightly open. "How you feeling?" Dean asked, trying to seem casual.

"Like the embodiment of acute pericarditis," Sam mumbled, half of his face covered by the thin motel blanket.

"Peri-what?"

Sam closed his eyes again, "never mind." Dean looked at the clock and brought the laptop with him to his bed. He got comfortable and quickly googled 'acute paricardis'. After clicking the condescending _Did you mean: acute paricarditis_ header on the page he scrolled through a wikipedia article on the subject.

"This can't be English," he said to himself, scrolling back to the top of the article. "Usually lasting over six weeks...!?" He whispered harshly. Sam was probably joking in his dumb, sarcastic way. He closed the laptop and set it on the nightstand beside him before throwing a blanket over himself and shutting his eyes. 

_He could smell lavender and Jess' baking. Through his socks the carpet felt soft, and clean, and warm. The colors of the walls calmed him, the overall aura and energy, though he never really paid much attention to it, brought him a deep contentment that no other place on earth would. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and enjoying being home again. He wasn't gone for long but it was long enough. He had left his old life behind, this home was a palace in a far away land where he was secluded from all the evil in the world, all the evil he grew up with. This was his home and at this second, he felt with complete certainty that no one, no monster, no demons, no witches and no family, could ever take it away from him. He knew that he had a something big, something life changing coming his way but he wasn't worried. He was completely confidant, this was his nirvana._

_He walked upstairs, slowly and quietly as not to disturb his sleeping beauty. The love of his life, whom he knew he was going to propose to. As he approached he heard running water, he thought of the warm embrace of the shower, of Jess' wet hair sticking to her neck._

_He entered the bedroom, fresh cookies on the nightstand, Jess' handwriting. The kind she used when she was trying to make it look good even though her writing was never messy anyway. He let himself fall onto the cold side of the mattress, his side, the side that had too long been unoccupied. He closed his eyes and settled in, listening to the soothing sound of the shower. He felt a drop on his face, he opened his eyes, awaiting a water-covered Jess standing over him. It took him a moment to realize. She's not standing over him. She's bleeding. On the ceiling._

_Her face is stuck in a horrified expression. For a second, he swears she's screaming for him. He doesn't know if she's dead or not yet. Her blood continues to drip from the ceiling. To drip onto his skin._

Sam woke up to the smell of fire, gasping for air. The motel room was dark, he felt his sheets, they were wet, his heart raced frantically, which was rather painful. Dean flicked the light on, looking at his baby brother drenched in sweat. _Not blood,_ Sam thought, _there's no blood_.

"Nightmares again?" Dean asked, keeping his otherwise palpable worry as concealed as possible.

"Apparently," Sam answered groggily, sitting up on the bed and feeling a slight sting in the center of his chest.

Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek for a bit before asking, "wanna' talk about it?"

Sam sighed, wondering whether or not talking to his brother would help for once. _No chick flick moments_ came to mind. "Honestly, Dean? Not really."

Dean paced a little, "you sure, man? I mean, I'm no expert but that seems like the kind of thing you don't want to bottle up."

"I'm fine, Dean."Sam snapped back, hastily.

"No you're not, Sam. I mean, obviously not, look at you. You got away, you haven't been hunting for years, your girlfriend died, not to mention she died the exact same way our mother did and yesterday you had a friggin' heart attack! You know, dad did the same thing after mom died..." There was an eerie silence for too long in the motel room, Sam swore he could hear his heart beating and his blood rushing. "He got cold, shut himself off from everyone and look where it got him."

"Right, Dean. He became a hunter. We were raised hunters and I'm sure there's no avoiding it for me now."

"I mean he's MIA, he hasn't talked to us, his sons, in how long? He could be dead for all we know. His only family in the world and we don't even know if he's alive."

"Two days ago you were swearing there was no chance in hell dad was dead."

"Look, Sam. The point is, you can't end up like that. You can't push everyone away. The point is we're family."

Sam put his face in his hands, knowing that there was probably only one way to shut his brother up at the moment and decided it was most likely for the best anyway, "I'm going back to sleep," he said after a short contemplation.

Dean looked at him for a second, wondering if this was an avoidance tactic. After staring at his younger brother all pale he decided that sleep was the best option for him, as it always seemed to be since Jess' death. "Yeah... Okay." Dean flicked the light back off and watch as Sam curled up on his side and pulled the blanket back over him.   

 

  


End file.
